


Silent Night

by nafnaf



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nafnaf/pseuds/nafnaf
Summary: Every Christmas Eve, Goro Akechi departs from shadows to reunite with Akira Kurusu.





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

> merry crisis

_11:30PM._

There’s still some time. Akira tucks his phone into his pocket, rolling his chapped lips together through the biting cold. As he braves the mist, snowflakes dot his lenses; he reaches up, slips off his glasses to clean them on his coat (ineffectively, of course—there’s no shortage of snowflakes clinging stubbornly to the woolen fabric). But he still dons them, ignoring the slight blur caused by damp smears of snow. It’s enough that he can see the light ahead, anyway.

A solitary streetlight by an abandoned park. Romantic, if there had been anyone to experience its ambience alongside him. Akira takes a seat by the bench and digs into his coat. Then, finding what he’d been looking for, he places the parcel on the empty space beside him, claiming another for himself to unwrap and lift to his lips.

It’s still a bit warm. He sniffs the sandwich and puts it back down on his lap.

Within the next few minutes, another body joins him on the bench. The unopened sandwich beside him disappears and the second mouth, unwrapping and tearing into it eagerly, hums as if contemplating its taste.

“… Mm… Better than last year’s, at least. Do you have the coffee?”

Akira removes a thermos from his bag. “I wouldn’t forget it.”

With a grateful smile, Goro Akechi accepts the thermos and unscrews the cap. He presses the rim to his lips and, after a pause, drinks indulgently.

Snow falls around them.

 

* * *

 

Every Christmas Eve, Goro Akechi departs from shadows to reunite with Akira Kurusu.

As midnight nears, Akira polishes off the last of his sandwich and bends down to retrieve their dessert. Goro is chewing silently, making pleased noises every now and then as he sips Leblanc’s famous coffee. “Reminds me of back then,” he says, almost yearning. “How I used to come to Leblanc just for this. Moreso when I became a Phantom Thief.”

Akira doesn’t know how to respond to that. _Became_ a Phantom Thief—not really. But, at the time, they had allowed themselves the illusion of it. He simply hands Goro the boxed shortcake, keeping contact at a minimum.

Their fingers barely brush. Akira draws away, a ghost of a movement. Touching Goro’s hands—gloved or not—always yields undesirable results. A flash of something long forgotten. Warmth? Intimacy? Love? But what was love when given by a liar?

Deception?

“I told them to leave out the blackberries this time,” Akira says instead, averting his gaze.

“I can see that. Thank you. I dislike blackberries.”

Seeming pleased with this outcome, Goro digs into his shortcake with relish. He licks cream off his lips before taking another sip from the thermos. Empty, almost. Akira can tell. “I forget the taste of cake sometimes. I can’t spare it even a moment’s consideration. Money,” he waves his hand dismissively, “is hard to come by when you sweep flower petals for a living.”

And how ironic is it that Goro found work at a florist’s shop, just like Akira had, four years ago? Akira’s twenty, now—he’s no longer the boy used to bumbling around Tokyo with a chest gnawed hollow of purpose. But he sees in Goro’s gaze a kind of inexplicable freedom. As if working odd jobs has returned some life to the ex-detective’s eyes, while Akira, a full-timer at some top dog’s café chain, can’t even focus on his own hands sometimes.

“Take as much home with you as you like,” Akira murmurs after a pause, indicating his bag which, inside, holds even more to-go boxes of lavishly decorated cakes. Goro’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, and he laughs cautiously.

“I couldn’t… I mean, they go bad very easily. But thank you for the offer.”

Akira suppresses a frown. “I can’t eat all of this, Goro.”

The utterance of his first name seems to send a jolt through Goro’s spine. Shaking his head even more firmly, Goro sets aside his finished cake and turns all of his attention towards Akira; the sensation is, as always, alarming. Perhaps, it’s a grim reminder of those days in the attic where Akira was all whom Goro seemed to look at, during meetings that were private or otherwise. He sets such emphasis on Akira now, gaze burning.

“Why? You didn’t have to buy all of this for me, Akira. Whether or not they stayed fresh for years, you know I wouldn’t have accepted it anyways.”

Yes, Akira did know that. But he went through the effort regardless.

“Fine, then—I guess I could give them to the others.” Akira sighs in surrender, setting aside his own (half-eaten) cake. “Maybe Yusuke. He wouldn’t turn down free offers of food.”

Goro falls silent. He’s no doubt sullen, likely itching to snatch the cakes for himself, but his pride must not allow it. He makes no protest nor movement to retract his statement.

It isn’t a secret, after all, that Goro Akechi never asks for what he wants.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Akira says through the silence. “If you want it, you can take it.”

Goro furrows his brows. “I thought Christmas was all about giving to receive.”

“No, not always.”

“Hmm.” Without speaking, Goro communicates what he struggles to put into words—gratitude, accompanied by a smile.  “I wonder about that.”

And suddenly, a bell tolls midnight. Some faraway thing, echoing in the frozen air, invisible to the pair but ever-present in its looming sounds. Goro turns his head towards Akira’s. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers, eyes crinkling at the edges. Akira knows he’s trying to hide something bigger, but the wide smile that surely would be gracing Goro’s lips by now has only the power to surface elsewhere. Through raised brows, flushed cheeks, wide eyes.

“Why don’t you stay in Tokyo a little longer?” Akira asks—words he says every year they meet up like this. And Goro answers like he does each time.

“Because I don’t deserve to be here.”

Akira’s fingers twitch, curl into fists. “Who cares about what you do and don’t deserve?” he retorts. “Some things we just have. You have me, and that’s never changing.”

When Goro finally musters the will to smile, it’s sad—nothing festive like the dazzling rainbow lights hung about the trees as if they were necklaces. “I’m sorry I can’t stay. But I’ll see you next year.” He spreads his smile further. Trying, trying to appear disarming. Akira can’t dismiss the effort. He smiles back, though lacking in any previous joy he felt prior.

“All right. Goodbye for now.”

With a parting wave, Goro stands up, turns around, and disappears into the streets. Akira watches him go, clutching the bag of cakes left unopened and ungifted. He doesn’t chase after him like he had the first time. Their farewells are always brief, always unspectacular.

What sets Akira apart from Goro is that he’s not afraid to ask for what he wants. He grasps at it, loses his grip, lunges to reclaim it within seconds. It’s just—when he lets go—he can let go for a long time. And sometimes, he lets go for good.

But he hopes he doesn’t lose purchase on the dwindling rope known as Goro Akechi.

 

* * *

 

The next Christmas Eve comes faster, more anticipated than before. Mostly, Akira is eager to leave behind the toils of the previous months; it all but sapped his energy, left him as a shell of his former self. He’s careful not to buy too much cake this time. With Goro, gifts are nothing less than a puzzle. Less of this, more of that, none of everything.

All of this would be much, much easier if Goro wasn't a hassle to find. His phone number is nonexistent, address a complete mystery… Well, not that Akira really tries hard, anyway.

(He’s not sure why. He stopped making an effort after the first two years.)

Anyways, Akira arrives earlier than usual. When it hits 11:30PM, Goro approaches him in the same manner that he always does—without ceremony. He sits down on the bench and gorges on the sandwich Akira bought him, no greetings or pretentious comments to fill the air.

“I like this one better.” He chews thoughtfully on another bite. “What’s in it?”

“The same stuff as always,” Akira answers.

“Oh.” A little red-faced, Goro clears his throat. “I guess I’m getting less picky.”

Akira doesn’t question it, for even if he does, it won’t make a difference; Goro is quick to deflect anything that may lead into a meaningful conversation. It’s like this each year. Colloquial conversation, fleeting discussions. Enough to get a peek into each other’s lives, but never too deep inside. Perhaps, if they dug their holes further, there’d be no getting out of them.

But they eat their sandwiches and drink their coffee for now. It’s a god-given blessing in this cold, a hot meal to warm up their insides, and Goro can’t hold back the appreciation in his voice when he says, “Your coffee always astounds me, Akira. I bet customers flock to your café like birds.”

“Mmm,” Akira says, noncommittal. “I guess.” He never really thought about it. They’re all just blurry, everyday faces, anyhow.

But it makes him happy to hear that Goro is enjoying his coffee. Makes him happy to see—embarrassed as he is to admit it—that smile grace Goro’s features whenever his coffee touches his lips. Akira allows himself the privilege to stare a little longer this time, soaking in the easygoing warmth and relaxation of Goro’s expression.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Goro asks.

“Hm?” _Well, that’s new._ “Oh, uh… I’m celebrating it with my family this year. Same deal. We go to my aunt’s house, cook a huge feast, play games. That kind of stuff.”

“Ah.” Goro chews a little more slowly now. Thinking? Daydreaming? And then, “I see.” The silence returns in full force. They go back to their sandwiches.

Briefly, Akira muses, _It’s not like Goro to ask questions in the future tense_. Usually, he’ll dial back a little; he’ll ask Akira about his day, about what flavor the cake is, about the weather. But he goes no further than tomorrow or yesterday. He can talk all he wants about the past, he can reminisce and laugh, “Oh, I remember that!” but he can never bring himself to ask about it. Questions are reserved for the present. As if he’s grounding himself against the tides of time.

Which is strange, for a former detective. Goro used to ask all kinds of questions.

Akira, too, can never plunge himself into the unknowns of the past and future. Though his reasoning is different; thinking too much is tiring, and doing so will yield no good. The past cannot be changed. The future cannot be predicted. What you do with the present is how you determine your path, and that means much, much more to Akira.

“What are you going to do?” Akira murmurs after a moment, keeping an eye trained on his phone’s clock. Midnight is about to strike.

“Hm?”

“What are you going to do right now?” he reiterates. Goro shrugs his shoulders.

“Same as usual, I suppose. Ah—we couldn’t get to dessert in time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Akira says, sighing, handing Goro his share of shortcake. “Take this home with you.”

The bell tolls, and their fingers linger together far longer than necessary when they exchange the box. Goro looks up at him, an uneasy smile on his face, and waves goodbye.

“Goro.”

He stops midway through standing up. “Yes?”

“Come earlier next time,” Akira says, and Goro, unsure of how to process that, simply nods in response before leaving, tracking footprints on the thin layer of snow beneath them.

 

* * *

 

At twenty-two, Akira isn’t faring any better. The café he works at is set for relocation, and Akira, having no desire to move cities, quits his job and settles with Sojiro at Leblanc.

“At the very least,” Sojiro says to him, when he’s done with his first night shift, “you’re no longer appropriating my brewing techniques in foreign cafés.”

Akira can’t argue with that. Of course, with business in Yongen-Jaya as slow as it is, the year feels decidedly less hectic, and—consequently—decidedly _more_ sluggish. Reconnecting with friends becomes harder being stuck in Tokyo, while a lot of the former Thieves broaden their horizons elsewhere. His ongoing search for a new job bears no fruit. People aren’t making an effort to stimulate his buzzing nerves.

Goro is still not here.

Fortunately, this Christmas Eve might be a stepping stone into finding out where Goro lives, or if there’s a chance of him returning—and (if the last two aren’t successful), an opportunity to strengthen their currently unstable relationship. But being patient until then feels unnecessarily cruel. Of course, the key to being patient is forgetting you were even waiting for something.

Although he can’t begin to fathom _why_ he wants Goro so close in the first place. The last time he let that happen, he almost got shot in the face. Besides, he doesn’t know what he’d do if the other man actually agreed to stay longer. Socialize? As if they don’t do that enough. Goro shares what he’s comfortable sharing in the brief half-hour they’re together, and the fact that it isn’t much—well, that’s saying something.

Nevertheless, on Christmas Eve, Goro arrives at the park before Akira does. He’s sitting alone on the park bench, hands folded primly in his lap as he stares at some faraway thing. The horizon, maybe, or the cityscape. Perhaps nothing. It’s 11:00PM on the dot, and upon sighting Akira’s startled smile, Goro offers one of his own.

“Hi.”

“… You came,” Akira says, stupidly, because _of course he did—why wouldn’t he?_ But whether or not Goro is amused with this reaction, he doesn’t show it. He holds out his hand in expectation and Akira gives him what he wants.

“Ooh,” Goro says, weighing the sandwich in his hand, “it’s actually hot this time. Maybe I should show up before you do each year from now on.”

Without any proper answer for that, Akira just shrugs and claims his spot next to Goro. He unwraps his sandwich and notes, absently, that yes—the sandwich _is_ hot. He then realizes that he hardly ever touches his food until Goro is there to eat it with him.

They eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Goro speaks up, through small chews, “I heard about the café. So it moved locations? What have you been doing since then?”

Akira scrunches his brows together, bemused. Not only is Goro making a conscious effort of learning Akira’s past affairs, but he’s also not being subtle about the fact that he’s been following news of Akira’s café, suggesting that he may care about Akira after all. The realization makes something warm and ugly manifest in the cavity of Akira’s chest. He crushes it down.

“I’m working with Sojiro again. Helping out in Leblanc, just like in the old days.”

 _Except lonelier this time._ He leaves that part out.

“Almost makes me want to stop by again,” Goro jokes, a wry smile playing at his lips, and Akira’s immediate thought is—

“Why don’t you?”

Stupid question, obvious answer.

“Because I don’t deserve to.”

Akira doesn’t fight it this time.

“I’m just saying,” he says, waving his hand dismissively, “that if you want to, feel free to.” It’s an answer lined with implications, ones that Goro, sharp as he is, surely does not miss. Neither make a move to acknowledge them, though. Probably, they don’t want to show that they’ve been vulnerable. That they’ve actively thought about each other. Felt _strongly_ for each other. And Akira wonders _why._ Why, why, why. To cast away his pride, to reveal his desperation—wouldn’t that fix it all?  

It’s unfortunate that it’s not that simple. Sitting here, wrapped by Goro’s presence, Akira feels some sort of hesitation clog his throat and render him speechless. Yet his fingers tap impatiently against his leg, his jaw clenches as if dying to open itself up with words.

 _I’m sorry,_ he wants to say.

But the other part of him, chained by his anger, shoots back, _No,_ he _should be sorry._

 _I failed you,_ he thinks of saying.

His other half: _No, that wasn’t your fault, it was all his._

“I think it’s funny how, as eager as you were to be outside of Leblanc all the time, that you’ve wound back up in it again,” Goro says all of a sudden.

Akira blinks slowly, surprised. It’s… definitely true—back then, he wanted nothing more but to escape the suffocating solitude of his attic, the claustrophobia of the café when it was filled with teenagers talking at him, talking, talking, talking, _leader_ this, _leader_ that. He longed to be leaping through Palaces, sorting flower bouquets at the Underground Mall, even serving drunks at some seedy bar in Shinjuku.

“I just think it brings back memories,” Akira says, chewing his lip. “And it’s familiar. I know how to work everything, what each customer likes…”

He stops himself before he can go any further. But Goro is looking at him with intrigue.

“I remember how easy it was for you to chat up the regulars,” Goro murmurs, breathy with nostalgia and oh, no, this is going too far into territory that they’re both better off not dredging up. Akira can’t think of any way to avoid it, so he listens when Goro continues, “One time I saw you discussing politics with an old man at the counter. You were so full of alacrity.”

Akira laughs, unbidden. “Is that so?” He takes a bite. “I hardly ever thought about it.”

But when Akira glances up from his sandwich, Goro isn’t looking at him at all—rather, his gaze is dropped towards the floor, shifting back and forth between his shoes and Akira’s. Weakly, his grip tightens around his half-eaten sandwich. “You don’t look like that anymore.”

The temperature around them plummets.

By now, Akira’s jaw is slightly agape, and really, who can blame him? It’s like the tables have been turned on him. One moment, he’s prodding at Goro’s defenses, and the next his are stripped down to its barest degree. _This_ feels less familiar. Yes, it feels almost uncomfortable. So much so that Akira doesn’t know how to react.

But the pause is going on for too long. Hence, Akira counters the only way he knows how—by taking control.

“It becomes that way when there’s less excitement in your life.” He crosses one leg over the other. “Which makes me wonder how you could be so content taking up less-than-rewarding jobs. I mean, knowing everything you’re capable of, they surely can’t compare.”

To Akira’s shock, Goro doesn’t flinch; he perks up with cheerful readiness. “On the contrary. I find them to be very… relaxing. Detective work may have had more thrill, but with that thrill came tremendous stress. At these jobs, I don't have to think about anything at all. I can just fall into the feeling of it. Which reminds me—” He fixes Akira with a careless grin. “ _I_ started work at a café too. Although, it’s mostly just washing dishes for now.”

“Oh?” Akira’s interest is piqued now. He leans forward. “Tell me more.”

Goro nods easily, somehow taking the bait. It feels a little bit like cheating. “One of the baristas there is showing me how to brew coffee. During break, of course, when I don’t have to worry about any cracked plates or permanent stains. I sort of got the hang of it, but I can’t imagine I’ll ever be as good as you.”

Another attempt at Akira’s dignity. Or is it just a genuine compliment? “I kind of find that hard to believe, considering how much of a perfectionist you are.”

“Really?” Amusement quirks in Goro’s smile. “I wish that showed in my work, then. I recall one time I nearly poisoned my mentor while taking liberties in my brewing routine. I wanted to surprise her. Of course, she had to take a day off because her stomach had been violated.”

Akira barks out a sudden laugh—without meaning to, or having thought about it at all—and Goro joins in, an easygoing mirth in his expression as they soak in their merriment. He feels, for the first time, the tension drain from his shoulders; he feels, however briefly, his chest balloon with the kind of carefree delight that used to fill him during every Palace infiltration. But it’s gone as quick as it came. He can feel Goro eyeing him carefully, and that dampens the lightness in the air, makes it thicker with uncertainty and dread.

An atmosphere he decidedly does not like. Akira takes the reigns once more.

“You should make me some coffee sometime.”

And Goro, former Detective Prince and all, is no fool. He stiffens when Akira moves closer, but it’s only to take the cake out of the bag and hand it to Goro. Goro scrunches his nose up. “We haven’t even finished our sandwiches yet.”

Shrugging, Akira says simply, “We weren’t eating it.”

A pause. But, not one to deny himself a slice of shortcake, Goro tosses out his sandwich and moves to pick at his dessert. Akira follows suit after a while, waiting patiently for Goro to return to the topic at hand.

“… I don’t know how I’d bring you a cup of my coffee,” he mutters eventually, in a small voice. “It would get cold by the time I got it to you.”

“You could tell me where you work.” Akira tilts his head to the side. “Or,” he flashes Goro a grin, lowering his voice, “you can come back with me to Leblanc.”

Goro tries not to look like he almost dropped his cake.

“… I—I can’t,” he stammers, quickly shoving a strawberry in his mouth. Holding back an exasperated sigh, Akira decides instead to reach over and snatch the cake right out of Goro’s hands, ensuring that it’s out of arm’s reach.

“Hey!” Goro gawks indignantly at him.

“You’re not getting this back until you give me a good reason as to  _why_ you can’t go.”

“Th-That’s—”

Goro cuts himself off, pouting sullenly. The pleading look on his face makes Akira soften in pity, and he relaxes his stance, fixing Goro with a gentler gaze. “Look… You can stay in Tokyo if you want. Take a break. It’s Christmas.”

Goro huffs, shaking his head. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“But it’s gift-giving season.”

“And why should I get any gifts?” Goro smiles, wry and impossibly false. “I don’t have anything to offer you. Nothing of value, anyway.”

 _Except your company._ Akira bites his tongue. “Gifts aren’t always given to receive,” he says in lieu of that, echoing himself from two years ago.

“For you, maybe. For me, it’s not like that.” And this time, when Goro speaks, it’s with a crumbling resolve. Nothing like his surety from all those years before. “I have to earn my gifts. Until I’ve made up for what I’ve done to you and your friends, I can’t accept your offer.”

Akira grits his teeth; he’s losing his cool. He’s almost about to tell Goro that he _can_ make up for it, make up for everything by not running away this time, but as soon as he musters the will to speak, Goro is standing up and gathering his things. Goro holds his hand out—sighing, Akira gives him back his cake—and he refastens his scarf over his face, covering up the frown that had surfaced there.

“It’s getting late. I’m sorry. I’ll see you next year.”

And like he was never there in the first place, Goro disappears, the bell tolling midnight as if signifying his departure. There’s only a faint gust of wind to replace the space he left suspended in the air. Before he can spare it a thought, Akira represses the turmoil in his conscience.

He wonders how long they can go without talking about it. Any of it.

 

* * *

 

To Akira, solitude is mind-numbing. Solitude is disastrous. He had been surrounded, before, in companions. He tries his best to mimic that feeling now.

But it all, all slips past his fingers, leaving him with nothing, leaving him with no one.

Not a day after he is finally able to see his family again, he has to leave for Tokyo and get his shit together. Even with what brief contact he has with his old friends, they’re gone within moments, and the void left in their absence is crushing. He wants to reach out. Find someone to accompany him. But when he’s given the chance, when his cry for help is at the tip of his tongue, it doesn’t escape—he doesn’t allow it to.

He almost contemplates moving back in with his parents. Of course, that would mean leaving Goro behind and ending… whatever they called _this_ —this routine, this… relationship. Of course, not that it bore fruit anyway, but Akira couldn’t help but try.

_I wonder… if you want to get to know me so bad, why do you keep pushing me away?_

It’s like a tug-o-war of control. Akira pulling Goro close and Goro pulling away, Goro pulling Akira close and Akira pulling away. Truly, what could be the cause of this phenomenon? Plain hubris? A need to reconnect, but no desire to acknowledge the past? And _why_ does he want to keep his almost-murderer so close by?

He files that away to parse for later.

(Meaning never.)

 

* * *

 

It was the very first Christmas Eve.

Akira was seventeen. He had visited Tokyo for the holidays and was overjoyed to see his friends again. Not that he had any wish to place himself back in the very same city where he’d been bargaining with his own freedom, but it was refreshing to be back, anyways. He considered staying longer for when college rolled around, just to get a feel for it. Though getting used to all the sounds and bustle was still embarrassingly hard.

But in the abandoned park by the intersection, free of crowds and skyscrapers and endless noise, Akira saw for the first time a sanctuary in solitude. The silence wasn’t deafening, anyhow, and the ambience was nice. Plus, he needed a break from the Christmas commotion.

So he sat down on the park bench and unfolded his sandwich, eating it slowly, indulgently.

It was seconds later when it happened. Someone, somewhere, was watching him, and he knew; he could still feel it, could still see through things without meaning to. Turning around, he noticed a shadow idling behind the streetlamp, eyeing his sandwich with interest. And when Akira turned his chin up, he saw, standing there, Goro Akechi of all people.

His stomach flipped. His heart raced twenty times faster.

After a short and awkward reintroduction, they spoke briefly about their days and shared Akira’s sandwich, a kind of intimacy that didn’t fail to make Akira’s skin crawl with warmth—but Goro couldn’t stay for long. He left Akira with a thousand questions, none of which could be or ever would be answered (for discussing the past only raised doubts about Akira’s decisions).

So Akira came back the year after with a slim hope that Goro would reappear in the same place, at the same time. And he did. Having the same idea in mind.

Hence, they kept on coming.

Six years later, at twenty-three years old, Akira is reeling with a thousand more questions that have yet to be satisfied. Every time he thinks he and Goro are growing closer, Goro finds some way to prove him wrong. That’s fine. Akira just has to tug a little harder in their game. Maybe, in the process, he will unravel something that Goro has yet to reveal.

But Christmas Eve comes looking less glitzy and without all the advertised happiness that used to infect the atmosphere around them. Akira buries his nose into his scarf, distracted by the lights and snowflakes that seem to meld in midair. He feels like he’s going in no particular direction, like he’s just walking, uniformly, purposelessly—

“What are you doing?”

Akira stops in his tracks. He’s nearly hitting a streetlamp, and, facing the source of the voice, he finds Goro standing there with concern etching his brow. He lifts his hand up in a sheepish wave.

“Hello.”

Goro sighs, muttering, “Daydreaming, are you?” Amusedly, he shakes his head, lips barely curled upward in a ghost of a smile. “Hand over my sandwich. I’m getting older the longer you stand there looking at nothing.”

Complying thoughtlessly, Akira fishes out the still-warm sandwiches and hands one to Goro, unwrapping his own as soon as they’ve settled down on the bench. Their eating is quiet as always, and Akira feels himself drifting as the minutes tick by. He takes a sip of coffee to ground himself. He can only hope it actually works.

“Why do you do that?” Akira murmurs, after a long while.

Goro spares him a sidelong glance, narrowing his eyes. “How do you mean?”

Coming up with no answers, Akira just takes a moment to think about it. He’s had a very stressful year, and usually, he’s able to forget about their meetings for a majority of it, but… the more years that go by, the more he lacks in distractions. His loneliness means that Goro has been eating up every crevice of his mind. Thoughts of back then, about now—even about the future.

So it hurts when Goro (real and alive and _proof_ that Akira hadn’t failed him back then, not really) keeps him at a distance. Close enough to reach, but not enough to hold. He struggles to put this into words: “Stop hiding from me.”

The wording, evidently, bemuses Goro, who lists his head to the side. “Hiding from you? I’m right here.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Goro huffs out a short sigh, picking distractedly at the crumbs on his pants. “… Speak for yourself. You’re hiding something from me, too, aren’t you?”

Akira furrows his brows. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you don’t trust me.”

Akira flinches. _Right on the mark._

“And why should you?” Goro continues, shrugging, though the emotions are clear on his face. Anxiety. Resignation. Sorrow. “I know what I did. Still, it doesn’t make sense that you demand my trust when you won’t offer some of your own. I’m just trying to understand you, Akira. You’re such a mystery to me.”

Clenching his fists, Akira retaliates, “I’m trying to understand you, too. But you’re making it so hard for me. How am I supposed to trust you if I don’t know who you are?”

“I…” Goro teeters on the edge of a nervous laugh. “I guess I don’t know how to act.”

“Then why don’t you start by being honest?”

Goro lowers his head. Inhaling the thin, wintry airs around them, he tears his attention away from Akira and concentrates on his sandwich, seeming as if he’s desperately, desperately trying to cling onto what thread of composure he has left. “Are we really doing this right now, Akira? It’s Christmas Eve. We should be celebrating.”

“Suddenly, you care about whether or not it’s Christmas Eve?” Akira scoffs, unable to stifle his spite. The silence that meets him in response is in no way comfortable or pleasing.

Nevertheless, Akira is determined not to give up. Six years of picking himself apart and coming up with nothing have made him antsy, and he’s ready to leap into the fray and choke the answers straight out of fate himself. He seizes Goro’s wrist and drags the other man towards him. “How long are we gonna go without talking about this? We’re grown men, damn it. Seven years have passed since I saw you at Shido’s Palace and I still don’t know how you survived.”

Goro winces at the mention of his father’s name, and he wrings himself out of Akira’s grip, pulling his arms over his chest. He’s breathing heavily; the topic, surely, must have made him flustered, and his cheeks are red with indignity and shame. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know, either? It’s not like I _wanted_ to survive.”

Dead air passes over them. Suffocating, loud, _vicious._ And then, “I did.” Akira bows his head. “I wanted you to survive.”

“Why?” Goro pleads, voice breaking pathetically. “I betrayed you, I almost _killed_ you—”

“Yeah, that was fucked up. But you didn’t deserve to die because of it.”

Goro relents. Steadying his breathing, he picks himself up, squaring his shoulders. “You’re… awfully calm about this. You know it’s not just you I’ve wronged, right?”

Akira nods. “I do. But I can’t say you were in your right mind back then. You are now, and even though you think otherwise, you _can_ make up for it.”

“How?”

“By giving me a reason to trust you.”

Goro withdraws, his expression neutral but taut with something else. _Fear._ “That seems a little too simple, Akira.”

“Well…” With no better argument, Akira just shrugs. “That may be true, but it’s already been seven years. We have to get over this somehow. And, to tell the truth, even after we’ve had all these meetings, it feels like we haven’t truly reunited at all.”

Goro sighs as if conceding his point and merely shakes his head. “I can’t blame you for feeling that. We’re both at fault for being dishonest with each other, after all.”

“Then will you come to Leblanc with me?” Akira places a hand over Goro’s, making the other boy jump. “It’s closer than my apartment, and I have the key.”

Goro flattens his lips together. “… Okay. I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

Finally, finally, a thin smile graces Akira’s features. “Thank you. For trusting me.”

“Why do you want me to trust you so much?” Goro mutters, almost as an afterthought, but Akira seriously considers his words.

“Hmm… maybe…” He strokes his thumb over the back of Goro’s hand. “I need to know that I haven’t failed you yet?”

_Because if I had… that would mean…_

 

* * *

 

Leblanc is freezing cold.

As they enter the chilly café, Akira detours to put the heater on blast. The two men had brought their picnic along with them, and Akira shoves the leftovers into the refrigerator for later consumption. When asked, Goro forgoes coffee—the thermos is still piping with it and there’s _no way_ he wants to put it to waste—so they take a moment to relax in a both and take turns sipping it. By the time it’s a mere few droplets at the bottom of the can, Akira is fuzzy with feeling, dazed and warm to the point of discomfort.  

“It’s getting a bit stuffy,” Goro comments also, tugging loosely at his collar. “Shall we relocate to the attic? I must admit, I quite miss the place. Besides, I imagine it’ll be harder to think when there’s so much heat in one place.”

“Yeah,” Akira agrees, and he’s startled to hear the fatigued note in his voice. They drag themselves out of the booth and ascend the stairs to the attic, feeling the cold envelop them as they reach the top step. It’s somehow jarring to be standing here. He’s in an old Thieves hideout (with Goro Akechi, no less, a former traitor-Thief), most of everything still in-tact (thanks to Futaba’s sentimentalism) and he feels himself flood with emotion.

“It’s nostalgic,” Goro says, stealing the words from his mouth. Akira nods slowly.

“It is.”

Approaching the flimsy, makeshift bed, Goro plops down and takes a moment to admire his surroundings. He still wears those stupid gloves, and Akira finds himself itching to take them off. But he just leans against the bookshelf and levels a solemn gaze at Goro. There’s a wetness in his crimson eyes, large and glinting with moonlight.

“There’s something you’re worried about.”

It’s Goro who says this; Akira draws back in surprise. Digging his hands into his pockets, Akira shrugs. “I’m not sure what there is to be worried about.”

“Don’t be like that. I know. You’re afraid of being vulnerable, aren’t you?”

Akira nearly sputters. “V-Vulnerable—?”

“I know, because I’m the same way.” He lowers his gaze, fingers playing idly with the blankets. “We both have terrible experiences with vulnerability, and I understand if being alone with me makes you anxious. But you wanted me to prove myself to you. So I want to understand what you want from me.”

“… I don’t know.” Akira’s temple thuds against the shelf. “I’m confused about you, I guess. I don’t know how you really feel about me. Why are you willing to make an effort with me when you obviously have such a hard time doing so?”

Goro frowns. He looks frustrated. “I can’t say I know why either.”

“Well, I guess we’re just both confused idiots, then.” Akira puffs out a laugh, and Goro, to his surprise, smiles slightly, too. They bask in that uneasy silence for another moment before Akira picks up the conversation again. “I think I have feelings for you.”

Goro pauses. “Feelings?” he echoes.

“Yes,” Akira says. “I’m not sure exactly what, but. Feelings.”

He doesn’t like being unsure, but it’s better than the doubt he feels towards denying those feelings. They’re unfamiliar, destructive, and highly undesirable. Still, putting them out in the open makes some weight clear from Akira’s chest. Liberates the demon that had been coiling itself restlessly against his heart. He’s glad to have figured himself out, even if Goro doesn’t feel the same way—at least he knows how to act on these feelings.

“I see.” The sound of Goro’s voice scatters his thoughts. Goro doesn’t continue right away, but his lips part as if to say something, stuttering through noiseless words.

And then he closes his mouth. He pats the spot next to him.

Tilting his head to the side, Akira asks the silent question, but Goro is insistent. He encloses his fingers around Akira’s wrist and pulls him forward, almost toppling the two of them onto the bed. Akira catches himself on Goro’s shoulders.

The world is unmoving around them.

“What are you doing?” Akira questions, slow, searching. Without properly answering, Goro gently coaxes him down, laying him on his back. Before Akira can react, Goro climbs over him and straddles his chest.

“Are you afraid?” he whispers when Akira does nothing, pressing fingers against his throat. Akira swallows dryly.

“Afraid?”

“Afraid that I’ll kill you.” With both ease and carefulness, Goro applies pressure. Not enough to choke, but enough to alarm. Akira immediately catches Goro’s wrists.

“… What would that do for you?”

“Get rid of these feelings, I suppose.” Goro twists his lip in displeasure. “So ugly, so frightening, that I’d do better to forget them.”

“Like?” Akira encourages, tipping his chin up.

“Wanting to kiss you.” Goro lowers his head and presses his lips to Akira’s forehead. “To hold you.” He slides his hands lower to interlace their fingers. “To become one with you.”

Akira’s breath shudders out of him, and, untangling their fingers, he raises his hands to cup Goro’s cheeks. They’re flushed and soft and overall perfect. Akira never knew he’d associate the color red with anything but violence. Red were his gloves, holding guns and knives and bombs; red were Goro’s eyes, flashed with rage and hatred and vengeance; red was blood, his blood, Goro’s blood, the blood rain of Tokyo’s red, red sky on that fateful winter day.

Red, now, is Goro’s skin, hot with embarrassment. It’s Goro’s lips, full and tempting. It’s Akira’s heartbeat thudding in his chest. He watches Goro close the distance between them.

Akira breathes out a sigh as their lips meet in a kiss.

They have all of two seconds to sink into the motions before Akira is turning his head to the side, panting shallowly. “Wait,” he blurts, as Goro chases his lips, “do you—do you even know what you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry?” Goro leans back a little. “Was I reading you wrong?”

“N-No, it’s just—” Akira, biting his lip, pulls Goro closer. “I was just surprised. It’s… nice.” That said, he presses back in, harder and more demanding. Goro melts into it, pushing forward, the two of them collapsing against the mattress. Through the haze in his mind, Akira admits that he’s never kissed like this before—feeling Goro’s warmth all around him is dangerously dizzying. He tilts his head to the side, brushing their noses together.

“This is a bad idea,” Akira murmurs as they pull away. “Really bad,” he reiterates when he feels Goro’s hands wandering his sides.

“Why?” Goro doesn’t even try to sound immersed in the conversation. He’s busy exploring, evident in the way his gloved fingers slip underneath the fabric of his shirt and roam upwards. Breath hitching, Akira bucks upward, trying and failing to maintain his composure as he feels Goro’s thumbs brush past his nipples.

“I don’t even know how to feel about you,” he says; he immediately contradicts his statement when a pleased sigh escapes his mouth at the feeling of Goro’s lips on his collarbone. Goro has the decency to stop his ministrations and remove his hands from Akira’s shirt, pinning him down with a contemplative gaze. Akira tries not to grumble underneath his breath.

“To be honest, I was hoping we could figure that out on the way.” When Goro speaks, it’s with a half-lidded desire, mixed with uncertainty and resolve all the same.

A kind of resolve that is dissolving Akira’s own very rapidly.

Frantically, Akira attempts to think it over, and he sits up to dislodge Goro from his chest. Goro slides down to his lap, fingers flying to clutch at Akira’s shoulders. “… You’re not…” Akira licks his lips, tries again. “I don’t understand you. Wanting to kiss me, touch me… Are you not repulsed? After all, this same body… you saw it dead in front of you, once.”

Goro closes his eyes. “I… did. I guess I can’t believe it…” He lifts his fingers to twine around Akira’s dark curls. Almost as quickly, he lets them fall to his sides. “You’re here.”

Akira doesn’t respond. He does, however, retrieve Goro’s hands again and entangle their fingers together. “You’re allowed to touch me, you know.”

“It doesn’t scare you?”

“Considering you literally had your hands under my shirt and I didn’t fight it off, no, it doesn’t scare me.” Akira rolls his eyes, overly fond. This frustrating young man, brilliant ex-detective and former murderer, reduced to little else but a shivering bundle of anxiety and lust… Akira’s not sure how that makes him feel.

But Goro’s hands are back on Akira’s chest before he can parse it, lingering over his heartbeat. Waiting. Listening. “You would let me touch you… that just seems too foolish.”

Akira sighs, shifting slightly and wrapping his arms around Goro’s waist. “Well… I don’t think it’s foolish. If you’re wondering why, I guess I should say that when I look at you… I don’t see the same boy who tried to kill me. And you’re trying to prove your worth to me—I think that says something. Don’t you think?”   

Mutely, Goro nods; he’s even more trembly now with emotion, with intimacy. He hides his face in Akira’s neck and presses his burning cheeks into his shoulders. “I want… I want to touch you,” he confesses, voice wavering. Akira’s breath leaves him long and heavy.

“You sure?”

A quiet moment passes. Then comes the muffled, “Yes.”

Akira smiles. Guiding Goro down to lay down with him, he lets the other man kiss him, slow and warm and almost shivery. It doesn’t feel like they’re actually kissing more than they’re communicating—unspoken words and confessions, Akira’s longing translating into the desperate press of his lips against Goro’s. Because it’s true, he _missed_ Goro, he missed everything about him, and is through suffering 364 days before he is allowed to see Goro again for only thirty minutes max. It surprises him how much _want_ is coursing through his veins, how eager he is to take Goro apart and keep the pieces with him for all the days he is to live.

Which, truly, is a scary feeling. He’s not used to wanting something this much. Back as a Phantom Thief he was only concerned with winning. Nothing about gaining, not really—the prize of seeing his friends happy was victory enough. But to desire one man so deeply and rawly sets his blood on fire, makes him dizzy with determination. He needs to save this man.

And if he has the chance, then damn it, he’ll do everything in his power not to waste it.

“You’re amazing,” Goro whispers against his lips, and they part so that they can get a good look at each other. Blushing, Goro averts his gaze and says, “It’s intimidating. It makes me not want to disappoint you for some reason.”

Caressing Goro’s jaw, Akira murmurs, “You won’t disappoint me.”

“No, I suppose not… But it’s still nerve-wracking.”

Akira laughs, soft and light and unhindered by any fear whatsoever. “That’s some confidence you have. Listen, we can take it slow. This is a lot to process.”

Goro mutters under his breath, “Are you underestimating me?” He actually seems somewhat offended, but he quickly gathers his bearings, taking hold of the hem of Akira’s shirt. “This needs to come off.”

His eagerness is kind of adorable. Yielding to Goro’s wishes, Akira pulls the thing over his head and they reconnect in a kiss almost immediately. Resisting the urge to moan into the kiss, Akira busies his hands with taking off Goro’s blazer and sweater, harder to do when his ability to think has been promptly stolen away by the heat of Goro’s lips.

They detach so that Goro can properly shed his clothing—“Why do you even like me?” Akira asks, before Goro silences him with his lips once more—and soon Goro’s gloves are off, too, Akira tossing those damn things aside haphazardly.

“Trust me when I say I have no idea.” Goro kisses him sloppily, enthusiastically, taking quick breaths during each pause. “You may be incredible, and I admire you a lot—a little _too_ much, but—you are just _so_ hard to like, you know that?”

“No objections there,” Akira breathes. He finds it hard to like himself, too. As Goro’s hands slide over his chest, admiring his muscle, Akira takes up the chance to continue, “You’re the same way, though. We could've been doing this way earlier if you weren’t such a hardass.”

“You’re just proving my point,” Goro mutters, though with a hint of affection. Akira scoffs, breaking out into a gasp as Goro’s lips return to marking his collarbone.

“God… We have _so_ much to talk about after this, Goro Akechi.”

“Noted.” The cheekiness of his voice is astounding.

They meet in the middle, lips melding, slowing into something gentler. Akira glides his fingers down Goro’s waist (he’s ticklish—his body jerks beneath Akira’s touch) and slips them beneath Goro’s pants, cupping his ass and squeezing it lightly. Goro’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Tempting,” Goro says offhand, pushing his hips downward. “You are so _tempting_.”

The friction of their arousals chafing together forces Akira to bite back a moan, and he uses what leverage he has to repeat the motion again, and again, until they’re open-mouthed and panting. “No one’s stopping you from having me, Goro,” Akira says, completely breathless with pleasure. “Certainly not me.”

“Common sense, maybe?” Even still, Goro’s hands are grabbing at his pants, tugging them off with fervor and freeing Akira’s erection. It’s reprieve for only second before Goro rubs Akira’s dick through his boxers, robbing him of breath.

“Oh—”

“Does that feel good?” Goro whispers, as if Akira isn’t writhing beneath him from the pleasure. Akira groans, digging his nails into Goro’s soft skin and drawing a whimper from him. It’s all too much having Goro touching him like this, no barriers and nothing to ensure Akira’s safety (or sanity) from being compromised. Though the sizzling warmth in his groin muddling every reasonable part of his brain proves that much already.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, tightening his grip. “Yes… keep going…”

Goro releases a little whine, and the sound itself toys with Akira’s self-control. He pulls Goro’s pants and boxers down under his knees, allowing the other man to kick it away into the shadows. Fully nude, Akira can see the whole of Goro’s being—scars and scars everywhere, defined muscles (and legs that make Akira’s mouth water), his length which is already leaking precum. He reaches out to coat his fingers in it and drag them up and down Goro’s erection.

“Aah…” Goro sighs, stopping what he’s doing to cling onto Akira’s shoulders. He’s shaking, practically hiccuping with whines and breathy moans as Akira jerks him long and slow. Akira feels drunk with power, and the sight of Goro falling apart above him is already too much for his heart to handle. He captures Goro’s lips in a wet kiss.

“N-No—” Goro blurts suddenly, gathering Akira’s wrists and trapping them against the sheets. “No touching. I’m here to make _you_ feel good, so… please…”

A statement that makes Akira’s brows jump up his forehead. However, he’s not one to complain at the offer of being spoiled, so he obediently rests his hands beside his head and observes as Goro works Akira’s boxers down his thighs, pulling them off with a stubborn determination. He licks his lips, bending forward to breathe hot air over the tip of Akira’s cock.

“Do you have lube?”

Akira scrambles to fetch it from beneath his bed.

Tossing the bottle of lube to Goro, he makes himself comfortable as the ex-detective unscrews the lid and covers his fingers in it. He’s mesmerizing like this—how those pretty lips fall open in a silent gasp, how he reaches behind himself to press a finger painstakingly against his opening, how his tongue darts out to gather the saliva that had almost rolled past his chin. Akira is so preoccupied trying to burn this all into memory that he doesn’t register Goro bending over to take half of Akira’s cock in his mouth.

“Goro— _God,_ ” he chokes out, fervently trying to hold his hips down into the mattress as Goro’s heat envelops him. Goro’s tongue is wet and hot, circling the tip and collecting precum, delving further down Akira’s shaft as Goro bobs his head a little, and it’s becoming increasingly harder _not_ to let himself go right then and there. When Akira snaps his hips forward, Goro moans; the vibrations makes Akira’s head spin, and Goro’s _still_ fingering himself roughly, frantically, whining helplessly against Akira’s cock.

“Shit… you’re so good at this,” Akira slurs, clutching at the sheets. Goro raises his head and they make eye contact, and the _look_ on Goro’s face—Akira bites down hard on his lip. He’s not sure how to deal with this side of Goro, disheveled and lewd as hell.

Eventually, Goro takes him down to the base, and the head of Akira’s cock hits the back of Goro’s throat. It’s miraculous that Goro even got this far, though he’s obviously struggling. He eases off slightly, dragging his lips slow and tantalizing up the shaft. Akira can’t think at all through the fuzzy nothingness in his head. His body is an explosion of sensations; he feels and _only_ feels. When Goro presses his tongue against Akira’s slit, laps at it gently, Akira’s cheeks burn and his hips buck up.

“Goro… do you enjoy teasing me?”

“Mmm,” Goro hums, not really answering, and takes his fingers out of his ass to clean them on the sheets. His face is flushed and cock hard as ever, dripping and smearing precum against his stomach. He crawls up to where Akira is to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Keep your eyes on me. Please.”

With that, he leans away. Rocks back against Akira’s dick, mewling softly. It’s not that Akira can disobey him, anyway, because every part of Goro is demanding of his attention. He briefly wonders how Christmas can ever be enjoyable to him after this encounter.

“Are you clean?” Goro asks breathlessly, and the sudden question is startling. Akira blinks for a second before he understands; he nods shakily, too rapt with desire to form words.

Goro smiles. “Okay… I just wanted to make sure.” Sparing a moment to lube up Akira’s dick, Goro strokes him impatiently, stopping at the base and squeezing it before he begins to sink down. Akira’s eyes remain glued open, unable to process the sight in front of him. He’s more focused on trying not to cum immediately. At the very least, Goro’s wince and stuttering sigh are enough to hold Akira back from pushing forward into that irresistible warmth, and he relaxes into the sheets, feeling the slick, tight heat swallow the whole of his cock.

“Ah…” Goro worries his lip, trying to seat himself completely on Akira’s lap. He spreads his legs and pushes his hips down further, further, until Akira is fully sheathed and Goro’s thighs are trembling with the effort.

“Goro…”

“I’m okay,” he says immediately, craning his neck and exposing the skin there. Akira wants nothing more than to reach over, touch him and suck marks onto his shoulders, but he’s chained by obligation and the best he can do is lift his hips, pressing the head of his cock deeper inside. A surprised moan slips out of Goro’s lips; it melts into the air, triples the heat around them. Akira nearly growls at how good it feels. He does it again, this time harder, and Goro squeaks a little. _Fuck,_ Akira thinks, driven mad by the sound, _that was too goddamn adorable._

“Akira,” Goro whines, grinding down, “Akira… it feels so nice…”  

“ _God,_ Goro.” Akira throws his head back in ecstasy. He can’t help but relinquish control, letting himself fall victim to the steady motions of Goro’s hips, the hot tightness that wrings out whimpers from his throat. Bracing his hands on Akira’s stomach, Goro bounces feverishly on his cock, chasing mindless pleasure. The feeling is surreal.

Never in all of Akira’s trainwreck of an adulthood did he think he would ever be this close to Goro, let alone be able to have sex with him. The entire situation is laughable considering their circumstances, but that’s not something he wants to dwell on when all he can focus on are Goro’s tantalizing lips, the rolling of his hips, the electricity gathering in his gut. It’s close to combusting, heat sparking up in every crevice of his body, but the hazier part of his mind holds him back from climaxing; he wants to savor this moment, savor everything he can muster in case he loses it again.

Goro is no better than him. His mouth is ajar as he pants shallowly, eyes shut and brows drawn tight, cheeks so red they might have been aflame. Goro moves with an uncoordinated vigor, technique substituted with instinct and emotion, and when he hits that spot, eyes flying open at the feeling, he thrusts down onto Akira harder, faster.

“There—oh my god, there—”

Akira catches on quickly. He fucks him in time with Goro’s movements, fingers fluttering uselessly at his sides.

“Goro, let me touch you,” he says, voice weighed down by his heavy breathing. “Please, let me touch you.”

“Yes, yes—” Goro cries out, and Akira’s hands latch onto his hips, pulling him flush against him. It’s doubly amazing, and being granted the privilege to touch again leaves him with no restraint. He skims his fingers all over, teasing Goro’s nipples as he thrusts upward. Goro seems overwhelmed at the feeling of it all; tears gather at the rim of his eyes, trailing down his reddened cheeks. He’s virtually crying at this point and Akira reaches up to brush his tears away.

“Ah… ah…” Goro grasps Akira’s wrists and presses frantic kisses to his palms. “Akira… I-I can’t any longer…”

“It’s okay,” Akira says, voice husky, “me too, me too.”

Goro whines brokenly. He sinks down deep, rocking his hips, stuttering and crying as pleasure overrides all ability to function.

“Mm… I’m gonna…”

“Touch yourself,” Akira orders, and it’s the only semblance of control he can tether onto. He feels like a firecracker about to burst, a body torn apart until it’s been reduced into nothing but a pool of pleasure, and the sight of Goro desperately stroking his own dick sends Akira over the edge. He groans, spilling into Goro before he can warn him, and Goro’s eyes widen at the sensation. He follows quickly after, dirtying his hand and Akira’s stomach.

Several moments pass before they come down from their high, Goro sliding off of Akira’s softening dick and collapsing onto the sheets. Akira’s too spent to move, but he does summon the energy enough to brush their fingers together.

“Tomorrow,” he promises, still trying to collect his thoughts. “Tomorrow, I want to talk.”

Goro licks his lips, breathing hard. “… Okay. We’ll talk.”

“Good.” Turning onto his side, Akira embraces him, tugging him against his chest. “It’s Christmas. You’ll stay.”

“… I’ll try.”

“No, you _will._ ” Being vulnerable to him was challenge enough. He doesn’t want his trust to be betrayed again, especially not now, especially not when they both know better.

“Okay…” Goro relaxes against him, but the tiny shudder that runs through his spine doesn’t go past unnoticed. “Merry Christmas, Akira.”

 

* * *

 

Goro isn’t there the next morning.

As Akira stretches to release some of the tension in his back, he sees something tucked underneath the empty pillow on his side. He takes it out to read it. A note.

_I couldn’t stay. I’m sorry._

_— Goro Akechi_

The words conjure a kind of chill far worse than the temperature of the attic. But on the side of the note, scribbled hastily as if thought up last second, is an address to some café. Akira closes his eyes and breathes out a sigh. _You made me freak out for nothing again, huh._

They clearly have a long way to go before they can communicate effectively. But, he supposes, this is just the beginning of commitment. And commitment always requires a struggle.

Pretty bullshit, but. With the address in mind, Akira stands up and reaches for his clothes.

There's  _no way_ he's giving up right now.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter is @nonnecheri feel free to talk to me about p5 or literally anything else i'm into


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